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I grab my cell. Pull up my favorite graphics program. It’s a lot more streamlined than Photoshop, but it’s enough to prove my point.
She stares, tapping the table with her shiny fingernails, as I whip up a design.
I show off my finished work—a book cover with her as the model. It’s an older picture. One of her staring into the distance, her then pastel pink hair blowing in the wind, her blue-green eyes contemplative.
Same title concept. Leighton with Ryan Maddox as the author.
“Mine looks better.” She motions to her computer. “You’re a better model.”
“Or you’re a better designer.”
She shakes her head. Turns her attention back to her computer. “Domain acquired.”
“We still have to set it up.”
“Later.”
No. Now.
I need to find the source of her resistance and destroy it.
I will—she’s too good not to do this full time.
My phone’s buzz pulls me out of my thoughts.
It’s a notification from Instagram.
@P3nnyForYourThoughts likes your post.
The one of me and Leighton at the beach, close enough to touch.
“Oh. Is that her?” Leighton leans over. Her eyes go wide as she takes in my screen. “I knew she followed you.”
I guess she did.
“How does it feel?”
“Weird.” My throat is tight. The same as it was when Penny called.
But there’s this warmth in my chest.
I want to throw up.
And I want to revel in my victory.
I may be wasting my time and energy obsessing over her wedding.
But she’s wasting hers thinking of me.
She’s keeping tabs on me.
Wondering if I’ve found someone.
If I know anything about Penny, she’s asking herself if Leighton is prettier. Cooler. Smarter.
Kinkier.
She’s asking herself if I fucked Leighton behind her back.
